Those days remain for me, over 20 years later, as poignant as Proust’s madeleines.

I often get too mushy or teary just trying to relate the lessons learned and the bitter sweetness that nostalgia just is. On the negative side of the spectrum, trauma bonding and Stockholm syndrome come to mind. On the positive, a culture that inhabited me, with all the muddy in-betweens that this sort of parallel dysfunction conjures.

When we choose to throw ourselves into chaos, as controlled as that chaos might promise or originally appear to be, we make a statement and commitment we can never really disown afterward. I f-ing volunteered. I signed my name. I was informed in advance of the reality of the program., at least to the degree it was divulged. Whatever pain was suffered in consequence, I knew very well it was going to be “tough”. That was the damn advertisement after all. In hindsight, was it a mistake? Did I overstate my enthusiasm, did I overestimate my commitment?

My father always said challenge, even to the point of pain, builds character. Maybe this is true, but it makes me question then why those who subject themselves to the most pain aren’t necessarily so strong in character. In fact, there would seem, as often as not, to be an inverse relationship. How does the Golden Rule play out when what the other wants, what he expects and has been trained for, is manipulation. My dad talked a lot about character, integrity, family values. He’s been married three times, so apparently he has a good base of experience from which to draw.

Chaos is sometimes mistaken for passion.
Intensity is often mistaken for intimacy.

We are only human. There’s a reason the slogan at the time I pined for the Peace Corps was : “The Toughest Job You’ll Ever Love”. I longed for it for three years before I made it happen.

Love? Tough? Got it! Know it! Sign me up.

I got one of the easiest assignments possible. I’ve written about that too many times to repeat it here now. Before I was sent just a few hours from Prague, I craved to be sent to rural West Africa, that was my dream. I was to be learning Wolof half the month in a village as I taught French at a university in Dakar. It almost happened. Then, I was threatened to be sent to Armenia, OMG! A clerical error, I hope?

I really hated it at times. Did then, still do, the bureaucracy, what’s not to hate? The jumping through hoops, the perpetual state of subservience and distancing and stonewalling, well it was just a precursor of all that was to come. Many events stand out, but what stood out most then and still is to be labeled a complainer from the outset. I was a huge idealist then; I wanted to give my skills and capacities to the service of my country and its ideals, as they’d been presented to me, and then and indeed now, the hierarchy meant nothing to me personally. Unless, as it stands, I can hardly maneuver myself from underneath its obvious and choking oppression.

The message is like a master to a slave: When I ask your opinion, what you are allowed to tell me is only what I want to hear. Or, consequences.

I completed the seemingly endless evaluations seriously and honestly. While others checked “fine” and “no comment” I filled them out for real. It still brings me to tears to remember this truth. This might be nationalistic brainwashing, I accept that, but my devotion was real. It wasn’t for America per se, because already at that time it was all plastic, I didn’t stand for McWorld, or I certainly never meant to, that’s for sure.

I really thought I could make a difference, that others, even those above me who said they wanted my opinions, really did want them, and the message I was getting on the outside was that I could make a difference if I tried, if I “applied” myself.

But on the inside, it was an entirely different game. Subservience is the currency. And that’s when I was introduced to the world of politics.

I know now one refers to this as naiveté. The rule is go along with the program, and if it’s too difficult, find another way to cope with your reality, like pain killers or anti-depressants or meditation or a new guru, or whatever. And if you can’t handle that, well, get out. Get out of the game. Good heavens, it’s not Afghanistan, you’re a teacher, not a soldier.

It wasn’t that hard, in hindsight. But, it was a lesson for life. It was a precarious political situation in some ways, and witnessing this was invaluable to me. There was a lot of propaganda, and little trust, and no one, systems, or people, I can honestly say, ‘needed us’ in any real and material way. We did not help. In hindsight now I know, we only expedited their transition from Soviet dominance to Globalist dominance. Some honest and more astute friends confided to me at the time: “We are only trading one big brother for another.” Intelligent, shrewd and industrious folk, those Slavs.

The level of distrust was at such a level that at the time it seemed absurd to me, at 26. How very foreign it felt to show my passport at every border, to have people question me when I snap a photo. I was so judgmental, but how I feel for them now! Now that mistrust and hostility plague all of America. What is happening to me now seeing our political tyranny and police state is so close to what I felt there, it’s like living Kafka. In the West we think of 1984 and Orwell and Huxley, but there it was already old news. Those dudes exalted the nightmare Kafka’s world was already living.

On one occasion I was innocently taking a photo of a garden in front of a large family home which I found particularly lovely nearby a friend’s house not far from the center of Prague when an irate woman stormed out and yelled, “What are you photographing here? Are you ill?

This spring at my home on a dirt road there was an unusualrecreational vehicle driving past during the two-month paranoia of “Jade Helm” and the parallel feeling was overwhelming. Something was off. These drivers were foreigners. This vehicle was not local or recreational. What was up with this? Was it me? Enter the world of psy-ops. More on that, much more, in future posts. The goal of the psy-op being always to trade ‘your’ freedom for ‘our’ security.

In those days, in just Soviet-occupied Eastern Europe once I stated myself to be American, instead of German or Russian, I got a better welcome from strangers. “Racism” was practiced openly, that is, if you were discovered to be Western and therfore “rich” you had a gravely augmented price ratio to almost everything. To cheat you, even if you were with other Czechs, was commonplace and expected. There was actually an accepted and stated price difference for foreigners. That was incentive to learn the language enough to fool them. It didn’t take that much really, because few were able to learn the Slavic languages all that well. Even with an accent, if you were lucky, you might be mistaken for Slovenian, or from the Baltics, because after all, what rich Westerners would try to learn your language.

Whatever, I digress. I love nostalgia and I’m wonderfully good at it. The truth: I was terribly lonely. In many ways it was an extension of adolescence, and the hallmark of all dysfunctional relationships—as long as you serve us, we will support you. Serve us means don’t ask questions, no personal boundaries allowed, don’t make waves, even when invited, walk the egg shells, and support “us” (we the institution or the personal ego) even when we’re wrong.

I haven’t seen any evidence that’s changed, politically or personally, though my tolerance of institutional coercion, and by default I hope, personal coercion, has consistently diminished to the point at present of, no f’ing tolerance.

An effective slogan for the social engineers that is quickly becoming all-pervasive is ‘to become an agent of change.’ In education, politics, self-help, being ‘unwilling to change’ is the latest in shaming techniques applied to any perceived neo-luddite who might question the value of said changes. Change simply for the sake of change is universally accepted as a good thing. Whether the change will be good or bad is not considered, to ask such a question gets a blank stare in return. Because, it’s change!

This is in fact an adolescent’s mindset now being applied to all of human endeavor. To question the diet dictocrats and scientific dictators, the administrators or really any part of the established order, the change peddlers, is to be treated like a child in need of a harsh scolding. Or worse, like a cranky old lady who wants to spoil everyone’s fun. After all, why worry about education, or the future, because robots will do all the work and the thinking for us.

With 54% of the US budget in discretionary spending going toward the military, with the stated goal of “Full Spectrum Dominance” (Joint Vision 2020) we can be sure robots will soon be fighting our wars for us too. For our 800 foreign bases the robots will be multi-lingual, of course. Robots will even be crafted to repair and maintain other robots. This will be so ideal for all of mankind, so get on board with change!

At Davos and the World Economic Forum they rub elbows over champagne and amuse-bouche while they debate about the plight of the grubby unwashed masses. You can watch some of them on Youtube, but it seems very few do. Kitten videos are more popular by far.

Has there been a dumbing-down in America? That’s not difficult to assess. The early settlers had town hall meetings brimming over with citizens coming to discuss politics, theology and philosophy. Common Senseby Thomas Paine was said to be in every household next to the Bible. This was certainly an exaggeration, but it was an extremely popular book nonetheless. Note the level of sophistication in the language:

“Society in every state is a blessing, but government even in its best state is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an intolerable one; for when we suffer, or are exposed to the same miseries By a Government, which we might expect in a country Without Government, our calamity is heightened by reflecting that we furnish the means by which we suffer.”

In an extensive NAAL (National Assessment of Adult Literacy) survey, only 13% of adults attained this level. Thus, the proportion of Americans today who are able to understand Common Sense (13%) is smaller than the proportion that bought Common Sense in 1776 (20%).

But, change is always good! Because now we are better equipped to appreciate the great gifts bestowed on culture by the Kardashians.

I began teaching in 1993, as a TA at Arizona State University, the year before I went to the Peace Corps, where I was also a teacher. I’ve worked as a tutor, teacher, trainer and guide, most recently as an adjunct instructor for the accredited online university American Public University System (APUS). There I teach beginning French and Spanish, starting in 2007.

The university at that time was still quite new and online universities in general have had a difficult time overcoming their poor reputation. Still, as an avid learner myself, but one who didn’t really enjoy the classroom experience, it was a natural fit for me. Change in the cyber-world is the greatest given, and education is no exception to this rule. I felt I’d adjusted over the years fairly well. I was apparently quite mistaken.

Jumping through new hoops with the ever-changing demands of the ever-changing administration is not for the veteran teacher, and I believe they are coming to rely heavily on that fact. In the last year the turnover is something I haven’t experienced since age 16, working at Shoney’s Big Boy.

This university caters primarily to our military professionals and that was a mixed blessing for me. On the one hand, the students are more diligent and respectful than those I experienced teaching high school or a typical community college or university. On the other hand, I did not feel comfortable being employed by a tentacle of the military industrial complex. In hindsight perhaps I should’ve taken that misgiving more seriously.

Most recently I’ve been ordered to not correct student grammar. This was after last year being ordered to not only correct student grammar in the target language (French or Spanish) but also in English, as many students were deficient and the cultural forums are written in English. We’ve also been ordered to actively monitor students’ performance and “engagement” and make weekly contact with inactive students. This is masked in concerns of “retention” though to me it looks more like accustoming the student to regular surveillance. I was also informed I was being monitored with equivalent consistency.

When I try to voice my concerns about normalizing such practices I’m met with comments like “get on board or get out” and “we’re all in this Brave New World together.” I wish I were exaggerating. I doubt these colleagues have any idea the gravity of the reference they make so off-the-cuff.

Apparently, to correct grammar for beginning foreign language students, is being “critical” and “negative”. It was actually likened to spanking. Again, I wish I were exaggerating.

What I most wish to share with these colleagues fearing for their jobs to the point of following whatever new command is coming down the pipeline without question: Do your research. You are supposed to be academics. Do you know who these orders are coming from? Have you heard of the Tavistock Institute? Do you knowingly follow the designs of the Council of Foreign Relations? Do you know why? Do you know their end game? Are you willfully or blindly engineering your own demise? Do you care?

Have you felt the shaming and manipulative techniques they are using to make sure you fall in line with the program, or to weed you out if you don’t?

A workable slogan. First word practically unknown, the next totally misused, and the latter too often hastily employed, or far too often not at all.

In brief agorism is a worldview or philosophy that requires anarchy and action to function. Here anarchy is defined simply as a counter-force to State power. State is capitalized because it means the over-arching control grid manifested through coercive government.

Action, even wrong action, is preferable to no action. The current coercive State relies on the affluence, self-indulgence and complacency of its citizenry. The bread and circus are provided expressly to keep you from complaining about how you’re being ruled, to what end, and by whom.

It is our effort to get off both the proverbial Western couch and Eastern cushion. The beige matters, the survival efforts engender peace of mind. No, it’s not exciting, not anymore. At one time, five years or so ago, I felt pretty powerful digging my first garden plot, with the help of only Handy Hubby and a wheelbarrow and shovel. Shoveling poultry manure and plucking feathers have long lost their short-lived novelty.

I noticed on one site large duck eggs going for $10 a dozen, we’re feeding our surplus to the dogs. Bless their hearts, we do love to spoil them, but wow. Just for the record, I also make a fabulous duck paté, which I enjoy with a mild pepper jelly and homemade sourdough bread.

By far the best part about homesteading for us is, we eat like royalty. Yeah, we don’t have the servants to show for it, but it’s still worth it!

It was a new word to me too, but one I learned is the oldest and simplest of concepts: bartering. I’ve looked more deeply into it–into the origins of the term and the philosophy and politics of it–and I suppose one of these days I’ll write more about it all.

For now, I’m thinking only one thing: We have surplus sometimes. I’ve been giving it away and usually happily so. Occasionally we find an opportunity to trade, but it’s relatively rare. Most often the surplus we can’t give away goes to the poultry and the dogs, also happily, but less so.

One year I took it to the local Food Bank, nearly an hour round-trip, thinking I was doing a good deed for the community. After one particular drop-off I remained in the parking lot for some time engaged on the phone. I watched as several people in vehicles far finer than mine strolled into the building and back out again with my hard-won, organically-produced fresh vegetables. Another avid gardener said she overheard complaints from patrons of the Food Bank that those vegetables are useless since they don’t know how to cook them, and they often take them just for show, along with their preferred items, only to throw them out at home. After that, I changed my mind I was performing any real social benefit. I doubt that supporting the poor choices of the so-called poor is a good idea, sustainably-speaking. If one can afford to drive an SUV, one can surely afford to pay for one’s produce. Otherwise, let them eat Ding-Dongs.

Agorism, otherwise known as bartering, solves our immediate practical problem of surplus, and while all the accompanied philosophy and politics are important to me, they are not as important as this. I’m reminded of one excellent quote on the topic, and that’s as political as I’ll get this post, I promise.

‘When you see that trading is done, not by consent, but by compulsion – when you see that in order to produce, you need to obtain permission from men who produce nothing – when you see that money is flowing to those who deal, not in goods, but in favors – when you see that men get richer by graft and by pull than by work, and your laws don’t protect you against them, but protect them against you – when you see corruption being rewarded and honesty becoming a self-sacrifice – you may know that your society is doomed.” Ayn Rand

Bartering encourages the producers, rewards the producers, as it should be. Either you have something I value to trade with me, or you don’t. Simple economics. I might need a haircut, or a lesson in business development, or maybe I’ve got a real hankering for a pint of pear hooch. Do you need me to have a licensed dairy to trade you my cheese for one of these?

If you do, go to Wal-mart or Whole Foods, no matter, and do your thing. Pay your taxes, vote with your dollar, give the banksters their unfair share. But if someday you decide their cheese sucks, you know where to turn. That is, if you have something worth trading. How about some gorgeous carrots for some . . .?

I wrote a blog during our beginning years called Homesteading: Starting from Scratch. At the time we had just moved rural, very rural, to raw land in East Texas. We hauled in water and camped while we built a cabin without the convenience of electricity, intending to get off-the-grid.

Five years later we’re still not off-the-grid! Not even close really. But, the next step means, we’ve committed to . . . something. Something more. That includes me quitting my job, for real this time. I’m excited and anxious but especially determined. We are aligning our life with our values, it’s been a slow but rewarding process. Thank you to any who are curious about our next steps, for reading and maybe even relating.

We have managed quite a lot these last years even if we are still far from our goals. We’ve learned much about the unique requirements of gardening year-round in East Texas. We’ve had chickens, turkeys, ducks, Guineas and decided chickens and ducks are all we need, or really like. We’ve taken up beekeeping and cheesemaking and are eagerly awaiting pigs. Sheep will follow, maybe goats, soon maybe even a cow. Right now to make our cheese I travel to a dairy which is a 4-hour round-trip for Grade A raw milk. Not sustainable. Still, despite the clear necessity, I am scared to get a cow!

We don’t barter much, yet. That’s where we’re heading. It’s about principles and ethics and holistic health, and the future of man and the planet.